


in between the walls

by lover_of_blue_roses



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Accidental Exibitionism, Accidental Voyeurism, First Time, Gay crisis, M/M, No Homo, between friends, handjob, it's just a friendly handjob, the staring into each others eyes and kissing is also friendly, thin walls, unless you know... bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26569279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lover_of_blue_roses/pseuds/lover_of_blue_roses
Summary: Paul and John aren't realizing how thin these hotel walls are, while George and Ringo can do nothing but listen in. Well, maybe not nothing.basically: starrison listening in to mclennon and having a tote not gay crisis
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, background john/paul
Comments: 15
Kudos: 63





	in between the walls

**Author's Note:**

> historical accuracy? beta? standards? nah, nah, just some good old fashion no homo wanking

"Ah- oh yes!" The walls were practically shaking with how loud they were being. George and Ringo stared at each other. Ringo's cheeks were even pinking. This wasn't quite what they imagined when their tour manager told them they'd be finally getting better rooms. It was nice not to be four people crammed in a queen, or two for two twins, a little bit of space if not privacy. 

But George and Ringo hadn't realized that as soon as a wall would separate them that, that... Another loud moan clearly came through the wall. They didn't even know that John and Paul, their prized song writing duo, were like that. They'd never even seen them hold hands, let alone kiss, and now they were explicitly having extremely loud queer sex. And enjoying themselves, alot. 

Ringo abruptly broke eye contact, rolling over so his back was facing George. Right, maintaining eye contact as they listened to that was probably uncomfortable. George just- he didn't know anymore. For whatever reason, he just assumed that the lad taking it was just baring it, waiting for his turn. That was certainly what all the rumors from all male boarding schools or military implied. But this must be different. Here, as Beatles, the boys could have any girl they want, and as many as they could handle. 

And yet... and yet they had chosen each other. That must mean something. Maybe not love, although it would explain how they kept staring into each other's eyes like that, standing so close together, always side by side. Maybe it was just a homosexual desire for men over women, but still. They chose each other over their male fans, or even Epstein. And as they were making very clear, surely they mustn't realize how loud they were being, they were very much enjoying each other. 

George didn't- He hadn't really thought on it this much. But if he could understand how a black fella and a white lady could be in love even if some said they couldn't, why not this? Hate is hate, and so love is love. He just- He can feel himself flushing at the lewd, pornographic noises John was making. Fuck, even if he'd just wanked this morning, he was still young enough for something so explicitly sexual to get to him. 

George slowly, casually, bent his knees slightly to lift and tent the bedcover, hiding any traces of his growing stiffy. He shot a look at Ringo's hunched form, even from here he could see how scarlet his ears had turned. Hopefully if the drummer didn't roll to face him he'd never know. John and Paul's go-about would end soon, they could forget this ever happened, and somehow try to find some sleep, eventually. But fuck, George doesn't know how he's not going to dream of this, how he'll just lie here and sleep, pressed together in the same bed as Ringo.

It's true that a queen is big, luxurious compare to their previous smushed together arrangements. And of course, more than once, they woken with morning wood, hell they'd even had wet dreams, but this- this would be different. George wasn't sure why, but he knew it. 

Ringo hunched in even more on himself. George quickly looked away, best not to be caught staring. But goddamn, when would those two be done, they were taking an age. And George could feel, his traitorous cock hardening and filling. He could feel his hands twitching as he longed to touch, to get some friction. It was just cause it was sex, he told himself. He wouldn't want to do this with a man. But these noises were distinctly not feminine, Paul's and John's voices and words undoubtedly those of men. Maybe George's mind just put them in the context of pleasure and orgasms. He wouldn't want to do that with a bloke. Right...? 

The first queer he thought of was Brian, with his prim suit and neatly coiffed hair. Not as much of a stick as he seemed with his gambling and drinking, he could loosen up with the best of them. George tried to think of him like that, his hair disheveled after a good time, his top two buttons undone and the way his voice grew soft. It just- It didn't really do anything for him. It wasn't killing his erection like a straight man might hope, but it wasn't really sexy either. 

He thought of John and Paul, they were fine, they were whatever, but honestly he couldn't imagine being anything but a third wheel, even before tonight's revelation. So there, he must be straight. After all, Paul was the cute one and John was the handsome one, so if neither did anything for him, it must just be the context that was turning him on. He could keep on fucking birds and never have to think about this again. Simply invest in some earplugs going forward. 

He could see the appeal though, maybe. A man would know what to do possibly better than a bird. Would know what felt good for a dick. And it would certainly be different. A flat chest for one. Larger broader everywhere but most noticeably the hands, maybe calloused at the top of the palm or maybe at the joints, big downturned blue eyes-

"Holy fucking shit," George bit out quietly. He hated everything about tonight, it could go rot in hell, this was not happening. The fuck did he do, kick puppies in another life, to be cursed like this? This could not be happening, he could feel his teeth grinding together as he tried to hold himself together, it was going to give him a killer headache. Shit, now he could even feel his pulse in his dick, the fucking traitor. 

He hadn't realized, because apparently he's a bleeding moron too distracted by his closest friends of the last five years actually being queer for each other, but they hadn't *even* been fucking. All that noise was like a blowie or what the fuck they were doing to warm up. Fingering? If that was a good idea with birds that oiled up naturally, he can't imagine with an arse. For all that birds had them too, he'd never used the backdoor preferring the easier, more convenient hole. 

Those two fuckers -ha literally!- hadn't even gotten to penetration yet. He knew because Paul was narrating in his honeyed voice, exactly what he was gonna do to John, making the guitarist beg for it. There was so much happening that George didn't know what to do but to cling to something, small in the grand scheme of all of this. John was the one taking it up the arse. Their proud fucking band leader that would deck a lad for calling him a queer, was lying down and taking it. Not only that, but doing it with such enthusiasm. George imagined it must be real good then. 

The bed was shaking. Really? Did he kick orphans as well as puppies? John and Paul's headboard was slamming against the wall with every thrust, and shaking their bed on the other side. Ringo let out a groan before biting it back with an audible whimper. That's it- George had to draw the line somewhere, and Ringo's wellbeing sure as shit was that line. 

George wriggled from his back to his front, doing his very best not to rub his cock against the mattress for all that his cock desperately wanted that. God but just the slightest touch would feel so good at this point. Grumbling, he made his way to his knees and pounded against the wall, "Could you two quiet the fuck down, we can hear- fucking feel the vibrations of your headboard slamming!"

Then, dead quiet. They weren't even this quiet when sleeping. For all that they liked to knock on Ringo for his snoring, John was only a little better to say nothing of Paul talking in his dreams. "Jesus christ," George sighed at this victory, looking down to Ringo. 

Ringo who was looking up at him, but not at his face. The drummer's eyes had stopped at George's crotch where his cock could clearly be seen tenting the fabric. Fuckity, fuck, fuck. "Uh," Ringo said sitting up. 

George stayed there frozen, only his eyes moving. He darted them down Ringo's body to see- Yup, there it was. He was hard too, and unless he was also carrying a python, sporting a hell of a lot more than George. Ringo realized where George was looking and bunched up his legs, bringing his knees to his chest, but it was too late. "We could uh..." George doesn't see how they ever could 'forget this ever happened' though.

"Help each other out?" Ringo offered.

God, what a fucking genius. Top lad there. "Yeah, we could do that. Might as well, really, if we're both-" Best he stop before he comes off as any stupider. Of course, it would feel much better if it was someone else, anyone else, regardless of whether it was a bloke or not. Much like you couldn't tickle yourself, having someone else touch you always felt better. 

Slowly, as though afraid to spook Ringo away, George settled himself back down on the bed, not bothering to pull up the covers. But maybe he should? Even with the lights off, the room was still dim with the outside light, and perhaps Ringo would rather not see, just pretend- Ringo's hands were touching him. That superseded any and all other thought.

Right yes, of course, dragging down his pajama bottoms, George helpfully lifted his hips. Much better than just sliding a hand in even if he felt self conscious with it on display. He'd never really thought about how many other cocks a bird had seen before, but obviously Ringo had seen at least one before, his own. And compare to that, George must not be much even if he'd thought himself respectable before. 

"D'you mind-?" Ringo gestured wanking as his hand reached out.

"Uh, no, go right ahead," God he sounded like a completely fucking twat. He wasn't fourteen anymore for all the lads still teased him. But then Ringo's hand was on his cock. "Ahh-ghm," he bit back the moan that was punched out of him. But fuck if they could hear the wonder twins so clearly then they'd be just as able to hear any of George's noises. It's fine, he could be quiet, that was what he was known for anyways. 

It's just... Ringo's hand felt as good as he imagined. He'd never been with a bird that had such thick expansive calluses, certainly more than his own. All his fingers at the joint, at the top of the palm, and damn near covering half of his thumb. Thick, hardened skin that was now rubbing where he was most delicate. And he was right about lads being better at this than birds, not surprising. Ringo wasn't paying too much attention to his tip over sensitizing him, yet he also wasn't neglecting his frenulum either. 

Birds sure would whine if a guy didn't know what a clit was, and they sure had a point about men that failed to make their ladies orgasm or how it could be more complicated, but that was no excuse to treated men poorly too. Ringo tilted his thumb, intentionally scraping him with his nail as his callous ran all along his shaft. "Fuck," George cursed quietly, he loved that new sensation, that extra bite.

"Yeah, that feel good?" Ringo asked just as lowly back. Oh fuck, George had been so focused on his own cock he'd near forgotten the older man let alone return the favor. 

"Mur-gh," George grunted as he tilted towards him, reaching out. Only for his hand to stop in midair. Ringo was already with the program, his drawers just down enough for his cock and bollocks to poke out where he was wanking himself. But at George's tardy offer he stopped, looking up at the guitarist. George carefully avoided meeting his eyes as he reached out. Shit, his initial impression was not wrong. Ringo was large. 

As soon as he got a hand on the drummer's cock, he too was feeling it. Ringo huffed and puffed like a bull in rut barely restraining back his noises. As with their playing, George tried to follow Ringo's rhythm. But unlike the strings this was harder, his mind far more distracted, and Ringo alternating in a way that lyrics and practice did not prepare him for. 

"Here, here," finally George sighed as he scooched his legs not trapped by their bottoms like Ringo's. Only briefly looking up to see Ringo looking at him before break the eye contact. This was already so much, looking at each other was tipping him over the edge. There was a cock in his hand so it's not like he didn't know this was a bloke but he could almost pretend it was his even if the sensations were absent and the angle was new. But to look at him and see him, not just any old bloke, but Ringo? Nah, that was too much.

George budged over until they were chest to chest. Harder to ignore him like this, his clearly flat chest for all that it was unhairy, and of course his musk. If there wasn't a show they just showered in the morning, no use doing it at night when they'd sweat their blankets, which also meant that some nights they were ripe. George hadn't hated it, knowing he was no better, but now actually he found himself liking it. Was different that the perfect perfumed birds or even what he imagined the finicky, prissy Brian smelled like. 

Then, George couldn't say if it was his doing or Ritchie's, they could have both moved at the same time, brought their crotches together. George slowly removed his fingers from around his shaft, darting shy looks at Ringo. But Ringo just looked determined and unwavering. Had he done this before? Something like this with another man? As much as it made George feel out of his depth, it also comforted him that at least one of them knew what the fuck they were doing. Two virgins in a bed was too many. At least he had some concept of this to pleasure himself. 

With their bodies angled so close together and George's hand no longer in the way, Ringo too removed his. Using their hips, they thrusted about trying to grind on each other. They both bit back moans and whimpers as they clutched onto each other, George clawing at Ritchies's back and Ritche's hands at his hips as though trying to control their rhythm which was as always his right. George's first, most visceral reaction was not to the feeling of another penis against his for the first time in his life. No it was to the large knot of Ringo's scar tissue. 

When George had wanked, he'd rubbed his cock against other body parts for their interesting textures. The top of his stomach where his happy trail was coarse, bordering on overstimulation. He'd also used the soft skin of his inner arm where his body hair didn't even grow for that most delicate of touches. But this- This was like nothing he'd ever tried before, he didn't have scars anything like Ritchie's.

The feeling of Ringo even more clearly so much larger than him, pressing up against him and then when their cocks could not be pressed together any tighter, the skidding over his hips where the mark of his trials remained. It wasn't just that he couldn't close his eyes and pretend it was a bird like he could with a blowjob or theoretically with a handjob, although the drummer's large and callused mitts didn't facilitate that. It was that he couldn't pretend this was any other man but Ringo. No way to forget exactly who he was doing this with. 

Which must be why he found it so impossible to stop his eyes from fluttering open. Ringo wasn't looking at him, biting down on his lip doing his best to hold back the noises, as his blue eyes had turned nearly green in the dim lighting and with blown pupils. He looked... hot like this. It was a pretty queer thought to think of Ringo as handsome but seeing how much he was enjoy a dick against his, this probably not be the hill to die on. 

Still he didn't know how to react when Ritchie looked up and made eye contact. They stayed that way, just staring, as their hips kept thrusting, their heads so close together. Close enough to kiss. They hadn't- for all they've been doing this night, they hadn't kissed. That felt almost like a bridge too far. They could say they were wanking each other off just because it felt better, a helping hand as it were. But George didn't really think that was true, or at least he didn't want it to be.

He scooched a bare quarter of an inch closer. Ringo's eyes darted down to George's lips, no doubt puffy and wet from all the biting he'd done to hold the noises back. "D'you-" Putting words to this, almost made it seem too real, too serious. Like there'd be consequences. But George wasn't sure if he could forgo the convenient excuse of saying 'nothing happened last night' when they'd wake up in the morning. Although if that extended to everything else why not this.

Ringo took the decision out of his hand when he too moved to closed the distance. Then they both moved to closed the remaining gap. Ringo's mouth tasted of being freshly brushed with his stupid peppermint toothpaste. But he was far better than any yule treat. At first their kisses started out slow, for all that they were clean shaved, they could feel the stubble brushing and scraping against their sensitive skin, so unlike kissing a bird. Quickly it grew more involved, they had kissed loads before.

George felt like he was growing close, even as he wanted nothing more than to snog Ritch for hours. He wanted slow and languid heat to build up. But the simple fact of the matter was that John and Paul's little inadvertent peep show had revved him up like nothing else. The burning passionate in him however didn't actually help provide better stimulation as his thrusting grew erratic, he just wanted more, more pressure, more friction, more sensation, just more. 

Ringo was the one to wriggle his hand down. George wondered if he was close too and gonna wank himself off, or maybe he'd wrap that hand around Geo again. He'd hadn't gotten enough of those drum calluses, dying to have them scrape against his sensitive skin again. But Ringo didn't do that, or rather, he did both. His large hand was wrapping itself against both of their lengths, his grip pressing their length together a lot more than their childish bumping. 

He stroked them like this but it was a bit awkward, he tried to wriggle his other hand, and George tried to add his hand to the mix but it simply wasn't the best. "Come on, budge up," Ringo recommended his hand returning briefly to where it'd been on Geo's hips.

George hesitated for a moment. Like this, lying down, in the dark and under the covers, they could almost pretend somehow that it wasn't really happening, or what was happening didn't really matter, just a handjob to help a mate out. But George had been willing to kiss him, so this was no different really. He just had to get over these stupid hurdles in his mind telling him he couldn't have a good thing even though it was right in front of him.

Putting his weight onto his knees, he shifted upwards. He didn't moved for a beat, daunted by what came next even though it was nothing, it should be nothing. Much like the kissing, it felt like a very deliberate step down a path he almost feared walking. But what was there to fear? This was about pleasure, and even companionship, things Ringo had made it clear he could and would provide. What was wrong with that? 

He lifted his legs to slowly straddle it over Ringo's hips, his nudity giving him full motion. He slid up so his cock was perfectly aligned with Ringo's. The hiss that this sensation evoked was out of his control, hopefully it wasn't loud enough for the songwriting duo just on the otherside of that thin wall to hear. They been really quite, or at least George is pretty sure they were. He might have lost it there a while.

This time Ringo's grip has a much easier time taking both of their cocks in hand for all that it takes two hands. He stroked steadily, just feeling it out, but that wasn't enough, George wanted more. But he didn't dare say anything, lest he be overheard. This was already pushing him far enough without John hearing him beg for Ringo to touch his cock. Instead he just used his expression, doing his best to convey his desperation. 

Apparently there was no need to beg, Ringo wanting it as much as him. So as soon as Ritch found the groove, he was able to work them harder, faster. George's hips thrust of their own volition, only improving the sensations more. Now it was his cock rubbing not only against Ringo's hand but against his cock too. The opposite of trapped between a hard place and a rock, between good thing 1 and good thing 2. 

George bit down on his lip as a whimper trilled out of him. Fuck, he was so close, he could feel it in his balls plumping up, drawing closer to his body. He just couldn't hold out his noises anymore. There were pillows to scream into but that would mean removing his hands from Ringo's body to reach them when instead he could just sink his teeth into the thick meat in Ringo's muscle. He loved to bite his partners and now was no different as Ringo's strong taste filled his mouth, sweat and sleep and that part that was just so human. 

From this position, Ringo had better leverage to just use one hand, his other going for George's exposed arse just hanging out there. George tensed up, fearing he'd run a finger against his pucker, not sure if he really wanted that but too close to actually want to bother to stop him. Ringo just used it as leverage to rock George's body, sliding him in and out of the tight grip his hand had on his shaft. Fuck, shite, Ringo's near effortless control over his body, manhandling him like that, like it was nothing, was enough for George to finally fall over the edge.

All his noises were muffled by his iron will and Ringo's shoulder, the drummer coming right after him with a choked back groan. Ringo's strokes died down to nothing as they caught their breath.

Almost hesitantly George lifted himself off of Ringo, dismounting. The drummer followed him with his eyes but said nothing and didn't reach out for him. Was this a one time occurrence only? Would there be shame or denial of their shared pleasures? George was far from ready to scream it from the rooftops, but he did want... this at the very least, if not more.

"That was... nice." Wow, George way to fucking undersell it to the poor man that tossed you off better than you've ever known. He cleared his throat painfully. "Really."

Ringo blushed sweetly, as though his hand hadn't just been around his cock, for all his gruff exterior he was a complete sweety. "Yeah, thanks- I mean, I liked it too. It was nice."

Nice. Welp now that that had been established, George was going to throw himself out of the window to never have to deal with this, any of this ever again. If he took a detour to the bathroom to wet a washcloth it was only to clean Ringo up. He'd been terribly good to him and gotten all the mess, which hardly seemed fair even if that was how gravity worked. Somehow it was almost more intense, more intimate, to wipe Ringo's chest clean. There wasn't lust addling his mind or spurring his actions. It was calm and quite with nothing to distract them. Ringo was even avoiding his eyes now, as though politely giving him space.

Which was considerate and all, 'nice' even as they had established, but it wasn't what George wanted to be the take away from tonight. He didn't want to stay at arm's length, tiptoeing around like they hadn't done that. He was even pretty sure he wanted what Paul and John had, something intense and passionate behind closed doors. 

So before he returned the washcloth to the loo he leaned over Ringo. Ringo looked up at him with his blue eyes, kind and trusting. Slowly George lowered himself some more, telegraphing his intent. When Ritchie realized, he smiled easily and kissed him. It was really just a peck, but it was enough for George. For George to know that he was cared for. Whatever they'd have, and they didn't have to label it, it would be theirs. 

-  
The next morning they didn't have time for more than a peck on the lips before they had to rush about, preparing for the day. Still it was different, things just felt different between them. When they took their turns taking a bath, for all that they didn't touch, they looked appreciatively and allowed themselves to be caught looking. They stood together closer while shaving and dressing, teasing and bumping into each other just to feel the other's presence.

Then they were ready to face the day, boring interviews before the concert later tonight. George straightened his tie, opening the door, Ringo at his heels. Only for John to shove him back in, Paul at his heels. The bassist closed the door, locking it with a finally sounding 'snck.' "Good morning to yous too," George replied drily. It had been foolish to hope that they wouldn't want to talk about, although he was hoping to avoid a confrontation until they were least in the car. 

"Sure whatever, good morning. Is it good? Did you sleep well last night?" John asked, the threat clearly implied. 

"Why, course why wouldn't we?" George replied as sweetly as he could. Would the proud, proud John Lennon himself confess?

But of course he wouldn't looking wrong footed yet sure he recognized the voice from last night, not to mention it's source. Paul spoke up, more politely yet just as sternly. "I'm sure there was nothing much then."

George rolled his eyes, "Sure. It was nothing but that might get in the way of my plans to sell you out to the paps for a few quid. How else are me and Ringo going to tour as a band of two with all your songs?" At least this was good confirmation that they hadn't heard the noises Ringo and Geo had made in return. He ticked off on his fingers, "1) I don't give a shit. 2) You're important to the band, the bar is much higher. 3) You're like my friends or something?"

John barked out a laugh, still clearly in terror of being known as a queer, but Paul laughed more genuinely thumping Geo on the shoulder. "That being said, the walls can be thin and I don't ever want that to happen again. Mostly because I don't wanna be kept awake like that, but what if you hadn't been sharing a wall with us? Ok?"

"Right, course, thanks," Paul said running a hand through his perfectly combed hair. "We're good?" Paul addressed mostly to Ringo, looking for confirmation of George's words. 

Ringo shrugged. "Yeah, just try to be more considerate in the future," Ringo offered with his signature dog expression, like he was some pure soul and butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He just seemed sincere and vulnerable, but they knew him better by now, at least George did. Which is why it's not surprising to hear that capped off with a, "At least invite us next time," and a saucy wink.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: starrison listening in to mclennon and having a tote not gay crisis


End file.
